


Barkeep

by ExpectoPadoughnut



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpectoPadoughnut/pseuds/ExpectoPadoughnut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monroe finds Nick at a bar. That's what friends are for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was in the same spot he had claimed an hour ago. All of his intentions to begin with were good; he was going to have a drink, have a banter and go home. All good things must come to an end. 

_Nick, it's Juliette. You left your keys here and I'm going out - there's a spare under the pot. Don't wait up._

He counted the glasses around him: _one, two, three, … another , barkeep._ What did it matter? The couch he slept on in his own home was less comfortable than the bar stool he was perched on. 

“You look pathetic.”

If the voice that spoke wasn't familiar, he would have blamed his drunken haze for beating the man. Instead, he grunted, not bothering to turn around, and he let Monroe pull a stool next to him. 

“Piss off,” he mumbled, running his finger through a slop of beer he had spilled. 

“Ouch. I'll take a Pale Ale, keeper..” He turned to Nick with a smirk. “I get the feeling this is a bottle scene.”

“How d'you find me?” 

Monroe skimmed the froth from his beer with a place mat and took a sip. “Your car is parked outside.”

Nick huffed. “You followin' me now?”

“You leave an easy trail,” and leaning close to Nick he sniffed. “When did you last shower?”

Nick shot him a look. He was in no mood to be patronized and lectured, particularly by a Blutbad who stunk of sweat and wore gym pants to a bar. Despite the merriment he was feeling, three and a half beers wasn't enough to wedge the stick Juliette had lodged up his ass back out.

“Monroe, listen,” he took another slug. “All I want is beer and a round of sambuca. Maybe I'll have a kebab after this. I dunno. Yer welcome to join me. Just don't shit on my rain cloud, kay?”

Monroe held both hands up in defence. “Hey man, I hear you. See these pants? I don't usually crawl bars in this get up. I got caught up in this really tough clock. Tiny screws, a bit bigger than a pin head, and I needed to get eight of them around a bolt. Anyway, I didn't have time to stretch. You know what that means? Groin strains. I was limping around my house for two hours with an ice pack on my balls.”

Nick grimaced. He took another slug of beer, swished it around his teeth and smacked his lips. “Two sambucas!” he called, sliding a note across the bar. 

“This place is a bit seedy, don't you think?” 

Nick shrugged. The bar was seedy, sure; a quick glance around would tell all you needed to know about Roxy's. Men dressed in leather hustled around a pool table, middle aged women in fishnets loitered near the bathrooms and Nick knew the group in the corner weren't old enough to drink, either. The problem though, was that Nick couldn't afford to get drunk at the higher end of town, and he knew most of the people in these seedy bars from their mugshots. They were like family. He left them alone and they left him alone; it was a mutual understanding they had when he clocked off. 

He slid the shot across to Monroe and they clinked them together, then downed the bittersweet liquid and shuddered. Monroe called two beers, then leaned into the table and fiddled with some bar nuts. 

“Imagine how many filthy hands have touched these nuts this last hour,” he said, rotating one between his fingers. 

“I didn't know you were that open about your sex life, man.”

Monroe scowled then smiled. “Hot yoga has some pretty hot chicks. You should come some time.”

“And risk a groin strain? No thanks.”

Monroe shrugged. 

“Juliette is gone,” Nick confessed; the sambuca had loosened his tongue. “ _Gone._ ” He took another slug of beer. 

“Gone as in gone? Or _gone gone_?”

“ _GONE_ gone. She went out with some friends tonight. She left me a voicemail telling me not to wait up.” He took another swig from his glass. “Dude, who the fuck says ' _don't wait up_ '?”

“Nick, just because she's out with friends doesn't mean she's _gone_ gone.” He accepted a second shot from Nick, clinking his glass and downing it. “She's just letting loose a little. Like you are, man.”

Nick scowled. “Whose side are you on, man!”

“Yours, dude. But I don't want you making rash decisions. Especially while you're calling shots.” He accepted the third sambuca, wiping his brow before taking it and gagging slightly. There was a reason he didn't drink spirits often; he could feel the sweet liquid sloshing around his stomach, and the cheap beers weren't helping. If anything, his groin felt better. He called a glass of water. 

“Monroe, she _forgot_ me!” Nick burst out. His beer sloshed over the rim. “How'd someone just _forget_? It's bullshit, man. And where the fuck is she now? Out partying with her friends and leaving spare keys under fucking flower pots!”

Monroe nodded, moving the empty glasses to one side. “I understand,” he said, reaching to take the beer from Nick who shrugged him away and cradled it close to his chest. “Why don't we just get a pizza man? You need food to soak up that crap you're drinking.”

“Gerroff me!” Nick grumbled, glowering from beneath his fringe. 

Monroe sighed, leaned into the bar and rested on both elbows. He checked his watch – 10pm. Raising his finger to call a beer, he nudged Nick playfully in the shoulder. 

“This one's on me,” he said, throwing an arm around the detective's shoulders and giving him a quick squeeze. 

“Cheers, M'roe,” Nick slurred.


	2. Chapter 2

“I aint even mad!” Nick bellowed, strips of lamb, hot sauce and lettuce flying from his mouth. He perched against the side of a building, hair completely dishevelled and Portland's finest kebab in his hands. He took another bite. 

“Nicky, dude.” Monroe perched himself against a bin, hands on both hips and his cheeks rosier than they should be. He had become the designated adult after Nick tumbled from the bar stool and had almost beaten the trainee staff with an ashtray. “You're a cop, OK? I need to enunciate that fact. _You_ cannot afford to get arrested!” 

“M'roe, lighten up, maaaan.” He swung his hand to the left and catapulted half his kebab across the street. He mumbled something incoherent, using his finger to fish out the remaining sauce and licked them clean. 

“Walk!” Monroe demanded, shoving him along despite his protests. 

As they stumbled through the empty streets, Monroe shoved Nick every few feet to keep him from stopping, and couldn't help feeling guilty. He knew he should have stopped Nick after the first few shots, but he looked pathetic hunched over the bar and mumbling his regrets into a bottle of beer. 

“Look! It's a pance darty. Let's go!” Nick proclaimed, trying to swing around past Monroe's body and over to a house brimming with teens. 

“Not a chance, buddy,” Monroe clucked, grabbing him around the waist and shuffling him forward. “We're going home and you're going to sleep this off.”

“You're notda boss a me,” he scoffed, stumbling forward to grab a lamppost, where he slumped against it and breathed deeply. 

“Fine. Stay there.” Monroe turned and marched up the road. He felt guilty, sure, but he was tiring quickly and his groin was beginning to ache again. After a moments silence, he heard Nick staggering behind him, tripping every foot or so and swearing whatever obscenity came to mind. He sighed and waited for him to catch up.

“Can't b'lieve ye were gon' leave me,” he mumbled, leaning into Monroe's grip. 

“You're like a lamb. I knew you'd follow.” 

Nick grunted something. His breath stunk of meat and Monroe found himself gritting his teeth and reciting German phrases to distract himself. 

“My house is closer. You can sleep in the guest room,” Monroe told him, hauling him around the corner and onto his street. “You're going to be sick tomorrow.”

“Screw her, man,” Nick muttered. He let his head fall against Monroe's shoulder. There was a deep fog in his brain; he could feel it clouding his mind and weighing heavily on his shoulders. “I should leave her.”

“Don't think about it too much right now. Just concentrate on moving your feet.”

They had reached Monroe's house and getting Nick up the steps proved harder than anticipated. He tripped over a flower pot, crashing to the floor and hitting his head against the front door. Monroe sighed, unlocking the door and looking down at him. It didn't take a closer to look to admit that Nick had not looked this relaxed in weeks, even if it was alcohol induced. 

He spread his arms, flapping them up and down and grinning up at Monroe. “I'm a n'angel,” he chuckled. 

Monroe smirked and leaned down to haul him in. “Up you get angel.”

He managed to get Nick up the stairs, patiently entertaining his rants about Juliette and his lame jokes. “Please stay on your side,” he told Nick, pulling his shoes and jacket off. “I'm not touching your pants either. That's weird. Just sleep in them.”

“M'roe, yer … a good 'un.”

He smiled, leaving a bottle of water and an empty bucket next to the bed. “Just sleep, ok? The water is next to you. Please try to aim for the bucket when you vomit. I've just had the carpets cleaned.”

He dimmed the bedroom light and left the door open a crack. Monroe had cared for many a drunken Blutbad during his wild phase; he knew enough about drunks to keep them safe. When he reached his bed, he flopped face down, rolling onto his back and cradling a bag of frozen peas to his groin.


End file.
